


indigo (let's test all the borderlines)

by malbokdiet



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Rape Fantasy, Tentacles, lee "hentai is art" minho, marine biologist chan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:34:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malbokdiet/pseuds/malbokdiet
Summary: Minho imagines that the lab where Chan works has just received a new batch of organic material, with one specimen in particular standing out from the bunch: a small, dismembered tentacle, so unnaturally purple that it's almost indigo. The tentacle’s DNA doesn’t match that of any existing species, and this thrills Chan, the prospect of helping to discover some new deep sea creature. He doesn’t even think to be afraid—the tentacle is tiny, after all, barely even extending past the width of his hand.What’s the worst it could do?-Minho fantasizes about Chan getting fucked by tentacles. That’s it, that’s the fic.
Relationships: Bang Chan/Lee Minho | Lee Know
Comments: 14
Kudos: 104





	indigo (let's test all the borderlines)

**Author's Note:**

> ✰ PLEASE read the tags and warnings before diving into this! as stated in the text, all the non-con elements occur strictly within fantasy, but i encourage you to click away if you find the scenarios explored to be triggering.
> 
> ✰ inspired by minho's tentacle fingers in [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r3OjMeuKypo) fancam because uhh apparently that's all it takes for my minchan brain worms to get going nowadays
> 
> ✰ title from niki's indigo

When Minho receives a text notification, he expects—hopes, really—for a number of possibilities. About 98% of them involve Chan describing in vivid, 4K detail all the ways that he plans to dick Minho down later that night. The remaining 2% has Chan saying that they should get Chinese for dinner—but, well, they had Chinese yesterday, so Minho’s almost certain that this isn’t happening.

To Minho’s dismay, the text reads, _My boss needs me to stay late and clean up the lab :( Go ahead and order something to eat. I’ll be fine with whatever’s left over._

As if the train wasn’t already veering dangerously off-track from its final destination of Platform 69 ¾ to Blue Balls Station (god, this train metaphor was already getting unwieldy), Chan’s next text reads, _Just not Chinese :/ We had that yesterday._

Minho frowns at his phone. _I’m seriously gonna run this train into the next mountain I see_ , he texts back.

When Chan sends him a concerned emoji, Minho adds, _Never mind. Text me when you get off, okay?_

Chan responds with a flurry of hearts and sparkles, then a selfie of himself in his lab gear, coat and goggles and everything. Minho smiles, a tidal wave of fondness swelling in his chest. _Nerd_ , he replies, saving the photo to his camera roll.

✰

Minho orders Chinese anyway, because he’s a stone-cold bastard with an unquenchable thirst for MSG and peanut oil. And, okay, he also orders a burger for Chan, but this doesn’t really build into the whole “spurned lover” narrative that he’s trying to roleplay here, alright?

He chews absentmindedly at the end of his disposable chopsticks, checking his notifications for the eleventy-seventh time that night. Forty-five minutes, two containers of takeout food, and zero texts from Chan later—and Minho is still horny as hell. No surprise there.

(Really, he should stop eating Chinese food whenever he wants Chan’s dick. It’s starting to create an uncomfortable Pavlovian response every time he sees a white takeout container.)

Minho has the sudden, bleary-eyed realization that he’s been palming his dick through his sweatpants, his other hand pressing the chopsticks flat against his tongue. He’s half-hard already, a Rolodex of memories and scenarios with Chan in various compromising situations scrolling idly in his mind. Then, he recalls a particular fantasy—a guilty favorite of his—and without meaning to, he presses the heel of his palm against his semi, making him groan softly around his chopsticks.

Okay. Yeah. Fantasy Chan would have to do for now.

✰

Here’s the thing about Fantasy Chan:

He’s dumb as hell, for one. See, Minho’s Chan is careful and attentive and so, so, so intelligent that Minho would probably find it infuriating if he didn’t also think it was inexplicably hot. Fantasy Chan, on the other hand, is kind of a ditz, and frequently forgets to follow basic lab safety protocols—and, well, this is where the story starts.

Minho imagines that the lab where Chan works has just received a new batch of organic material, with one specimen in particular standing out from the bunch: a small, dismembered tentacle, so unnaturally purple that it's almost indigo. The tentacle’s DNA doesn’t match that of any existing species, and this thrills Chan, the prospect of helping to discover some new deep sea creature. He doesn’t even think to be afraid—the tentacle is tiny, after all, barely even extending past the width of his hand. 

What’s the worst it could do?

He finds out just how dangerous it is when he’s alone at the lab one night, cleaning up after a busy day of lab work. See, Chan should’ve put the tentacle away first, made sure to store it in a secure location—but he finds it too fascinating to tuck away just yet, and he keeps it out as a silent companion of sorts as he tidies the lab up. This is his first mistake.

His second mistake comes when he decides to pop in his headphones while mixing up a bleach solution. He’s so busy bopping his head to the latest Ed Sheeran single (god, his taste in music is terrible, but Minho tries his best not to let this distract him as he slips one hand underneath his shirt and skims it up the side of his stomach) that he doesn’t hear the wet sounds of the tentacle writhing behind him as it swells in size and grows another limb, then another, and another—

The container of bleach in Chan’s hands drops to the floor when one of the newly grown tentacles slithers under his lab coat, his shirt. It prods curiously at the soft skin of his stomach and dips into his belly button for a moment. It’s unfamiliar with all the nooks and crevices of the human body, but it gurgles approvingly at the warmth of it all, likes how soft and pliable the skin feels.

Chan would scream reflexively—and this is his third mistake, because that creature, that _thing_ , takes this as a cue to worm another tentacle up to Chan’s face and pry his lips open before slipping into the warm, wet heat of his mouth. Chan chokes around the length (he’s always had a terrible gag reflex, so Minho knows just how he looks when he’s trying and failing to deepthroat, eyes clouded over with tears as he breathes harshly through his nose), and the creature only interprets this as further encouragement, running a thin tentacle across the cherry seam of his lips as he lets out a muffled shout.

Maybe Chan would fight back at this point, one hand grabbing the tentacle at his waist and his other hand reaching for the one fucking into his mouth. The creature is quicker than him, though, immediately wrapping two more tentacles around his wrists and jerking him onto the floor. (And oh god, fantasy or not, Minho really doesn’t want Chan to crack his skull open on the lab floor when he falls. So he materializes a king-sized mattress underneath him, because there’s really no place for realism in _his_ tentacle sex fantasy.)

Even now, Chan struggles against the tentacles’ tight grip, but the creature is too strong, and the effort quickly leaves him winded. Sensing a crack in his armor, the creature snakes another greedy tentacle up his bare stomach (er, Minho’s just decided that all his clothes are off now, because he’s getting a little impatient) and slides a slimy, suction-cupped tip around his nipple. Another tentacle wraps itself around the base of his dick, then starts jerking him off with smooth, shallow strokes—

Minho moans into his knuckles as he slides his own hand up and down his cock. They’re out of regular lube, so the bedroom smells like strawberries right now, and this is sort of killing the vibe of the fantasy at hand—but he’s close now, so close, and he tries not to think too hard about it. Maybe tentacle monster slime smells like strawberry lube, yeah?

Anyways. Two more feelers wrap around Chan’s ankles and pry his legs open, and another thick tentacle trails against his perineum, circling the hole curiously. (This particular tentacle, coincidentally, has the exact same girth and shape as Minho’s dick. Again, don’t think about it too hard.) The Minho’s dick-shaped tentacle pushes past the ring of muscle, and Chan makes a strangled sound, his voice still muffled by the tentacle stuffed in his mouth. As the tentacle starts fucking into him, the slide made smoother by the thick, viscous slime oozing from its suction cups, Chan makes needy little noises in his throat. Tears are streaming down his face now (because Minho thinks he looks so, so pretty when he cries), and one of the thinner tentacles swipes experimentally underneath his eyes, smearing the tears all over his cheek. Or maybe it brushes the sweat-matted bangs off his forehead instead, so that it can fully admire just how wrecked Chan looks.

Minho can always tell when Chan is about to come. He’s so obvious about it, eyes squeezing shut and mouth forming a precious little ‘o’—and he thinks the creature would be able to tell, too. It starts fucking into Chan faster, relentless, and another tentacle trails teasingly around his frenulum. It’s the same spot that Minho likes to lap kittenish little licks against whenever he blows him, because it always makes Chan throw his head back with a harsh exhale, his grip in Minho’s hair tightening—

Minho comes into his own hand with a groan, the image of Chan squirming flushed and helpless and overstimulated still burned into the back of his eyes. When he finally comes back to reality, he scrunches his nose, displeased. Great. Now he smells like strawberries _and_ jizz.

✰

He doesn’t remember falling asleep—just remembers walking to the bathroom in a daze to wash his hands, the rest of the memory fading fuzzily at the edges—but when he blinks his eyes open, Chan’s face is staring down at him, eyes curved in a crescent moon smile.

“Welcome home, cheater,” Minho greets drowsily, still half-asleep as he rubs at his eyes.

Chan furrows his brow. “Cheater?” he repeats, amused.

Minho yawns into the back of his hand. “Mhm,” he says. “You’re married to your work, and I am but your poor, neglected mistress.”

Chan laughs. “Well,” he says, eyes trailing down Minho’s torso. “You seem to make do without me.”

Minho follows his gaze. Oh. Looks like he forgot to put pants back on. “Plot twist,” says Minho. “I’m actually cheating on you with Fantasy Chan.”

Chan snorts. He knows all about Minho’s fantasies, and he’s not really into it, prefers to leave all the tentacles and slimy stuff in the lab—but he also doesn’t mind what Minho gets off on, so long as he doesn’t bring any of it into the actual bedroom. 

“Mm, poor guy,” Chan says, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. “What terrible scenario did you put him through this time?”

He brushes Minho’s bangs away from his forehead, fingers lingering warm and comforting against his scalp. Minho is suddenly reminded of the tentacle sweeping Chan’s hair out of the way, and he feels a slight twist of guilt in his gut. Then, Chan offers him a patient, understanding smile, and the heat of shame simmering underneath his skin cools.

“He got fucked by a shape-shifting tentacle monster,” Minho says. “Lab subject gone rogue.”

Chan hums sympathetically. “He just can’t catch a break, huh?”

“It’s okay, though,” Minho adds quickly. “Because Fantasy Minho comes in at the end and cuts the thing’s tentacles off. Then, they go out for pizza. And probably also therapy.”

“Y’know,” Chan says. “Octopi can grow their arms back after they’ve been cut off. Kinda like starfish. Only, I guess with starfish, the dismembered limbs also regenerate into new—”

“Chan,” Minho interrupts. "Please don’t bring actual biology into my sexual fantasies. It’s going to give me an anti-boner.”

Chan laughs again. “Alright,” he says, and those two syllables sound so incredibly fond that it makes Minho’s face flush with embarrassment. He just finished fantasizing about Chan getting rammed by tentacle dick, and _this_ is what makes him blush.

“Just so you know,” Minho says. “I love you, and I don’t actually want you to get raped by a tentacle monster.”

Chan’s smile widens, and Minho imagines it’s because he almost never says the L word. Maybe he shouldn’t have used it in the same sentence as the phrase “raped by a tentacle monster”—but, well, that was probably the best that he was going to get out of Minho. “I know,” Chan says, his hand trailing down from Minho’s forehead to cup gently at his cheek. “I love you, too.”

Minho hums happily, eyes fluttering shut as he leans into the warmth of Chan’s touch. “I know,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> [my twitter](https://twitter.com/malbokdiet) | [my curiouscat](https://curiouscat.qa/malbokdiet)


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